


Deep Blue

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: F/F, Illustrated, Mind Control, Non Consensual, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-12-28
Packaged: 2017-11-22 17:03:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/612152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello! This is my fill for Ladystuck 2012! <br/>The request was for Dolorosa/Mindfang<br/>(extensive apologies to Innsmouth who requested to see more of their interactions before the rebellion. I really wasn't sure how to write that!)</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Deep Blue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Innsmouth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Innsmouth/gifts).



> Hello! This is my fill for Ladystuck 2012!   
> The request was for Dolorosa/Mindfang  
> (extensive apologies to Innsmouth who requested to see more of their interactions before the rebellion. I really wasn't sure how to write that!)

The bright Alternian sun peeks cautiously over the brim of the horizon, flooding the sky with red light. It's much too late for you to be sitting out here, but you figure that retreating to your recuperacoon won't be much salvation from the thoughts bouncing around in your thinkpan. You swing your legs up over the dock and sit precariously on the lip. Your bare feet plunge into the cool water, casting ripples onto its choppy surface. You don't even bother averting your eyes from the sun. You've become so accustomed to danger that it doesn't even occur to you that your corneas could melt out of your skull at any given moment. 

The bottle of mysterious (illicit) liquid sitting to your right beckons, and you pull it close. After wrestling with the cap for a few minutes, your efforts seem futile, so you smash it on the edge of the dock and take a hearty swig. The jagged edge of the glass presses against your cheek with every swill. By the time you've downed the whole thing, you have an assortment of little cerulean cuts on the corner of your mouth. Injury suits you, you think. Scars coat every inch of your arms and legs. There are bruises all along your torso, and bite marks in places you are reluctant to recount. 

You are numb. The tips of your fingers, the lashes framing your eyes, and the chipped lacquer on your toenails. The rough patch of skin on your elbow and the heart-shaped scar on your breast. The split ends of your mane and the sounds your teeth make when you scrape them against each other. All of them are a part of you, but they are forgotten. Who will remember you, now that she's gone? You are nothing but a whisper. Your mechanical arm whirs. Your right eye burns. Everything spins around you in a kaleidoscope of colors and shapes. What is real? What is fake? What is the truth? What is a lie? You close your eyes. 

You feel her kiss, fleeting, tender. Goosebumps rise on your skin, your breath hitches. Her lips on yours, sweet and lingering. You feel her lithe fingers dancing across your skin. Her ginger caress, her loving embrace. It envelops you. It consumes you. Your vision fades, the soft swell of the ocean halts, the salt-riddled breeze is suctioned back up into the atmosphere. 

You are nothing but a whisper.


	2. Shackles

It's dark. Darker than even you can fathom. The frigid metal of the handcuffs chafes against your wrists. It doesn't matter though. Nothing really matters. The wardens haven't stripped you down yet, but you don't doubt that they will. You utter your final goodbyes to the soft satin gown that's pooling around your ankles. The cool stone wall sends chills up your spine. At least you assume that it's stone, as you can't see a thing. You are tempted to use your rainbowdrinker powers to illuminate yourself, but drawing attention to the fact that you are undead doesn't seem like such a good idea. Curiosity gets the best of you, and you do it anyway.

 

The cell is long and narrow, with slated walls and wood floors. The farthest wall has a large ornate mirror hanging on it, which is gilded with gold around the edges. It is adorned with a crest featuring a topless mermaid and some strange sea-lusii. Not surprisingly, the cell is full of other trolls. They all look at you strangely, but you put a finger to your lips. Reality hasn't caught up with you quite yet, but life seems all too real for the others. Their reflections look broken and hopeless. Their pallid faces have wrinkles etched deep into them. Time seems to flow around them differently. Age begins to lose its significance when weighed down by experience. You unintentionally catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. You look almost as worn out as the other trolls sitting beside you. Tear stains coat your cheeks, and your hair has certainly seen better days. You are tired and it seems like the flame inside of you has gone out. The person staring back at you is an impostor. It's not you. It can't be you. You rear to shatter the mirror with your bare feet, but you're overcome by fatigue. You are done despairing. You can do nothing now but mourn. The fight is over. Your son is dead. 

There is a click and a metallic groan as the iron-clad bars slide out of place, and a shadow is cast over the splintery ground. You hastily dim yourself down. You are whisked up off the floor with a grunt and you feel two large, calloused hands gripping your waist. You are thrown out of the cell.

"Let's go meet the boys, sweetheart."

Your head lulls. You lose all feeling in your body. You are empty except for a soft voice murmuring _keep fighting_. You don't even have the energy to shut it out. You open your eyes.

Suddenly, you are on the upper deck of a hulking pirate ship. There is a  crowd of rowdy men who are clearly intoxicated. Soporific fluids are strewn around on the wood paneling. Your hands are forced over your head, without much effort, and the chain securing your cuffs is placed over a pole.

The men hoot and holler at you. You even hear a couple meowbeast-calls.

"Strip 'er down"

_Mother_

"Rip off her clothes"

_Mother_

"Give us a show, sexy!"

_Mother!_

They stare at you like ravenous wolfbeasts assessing a cholerbear carcass. Their wild eyes and bared teeth are illuminated in the dark. Their glares bore holes in your clothing. You struggle to cover yourself up, but your arms are bound above your head. They bind your legs to the pole with a rope and pull it taut, and you can't move an inch.

"Stupid weak bitch"

_Mother, get up!_

A long, lanky troll with toothpicks for arms walks up behind you and starts tearing your dress apart. 

_I need you to fight! for me!_

You've already had your son stolen from you, your pride has been pilfered, but this is too much. Your tongue is like cotton in your dry mouth, but somehow you manage to accumulate enough saliva to spit right in the troll's face. Her eyes wide, she slaps you across the cheek, hard. Your face is flushed jade.

"I am not weak. There are a lot of choice words that you could use to describe me, but weak isn't one of them. Don't judge my strength based on my gender. I have endured more than any of you could ever even dream of. YOU ARE THE REAL COWARDS. YOU ARE THE ONES WHO COULDN'T ADAPT TO EQUALITY. THE ONES WHO COULDN'T CONFORM AND JOIN THE REBELLION. SCUM LIKE YOU ARE THE REASON WHY MY SON IS DEAD, AND I WILL NOT GIVE YOU REPULSIVE OINKBEASTS THE SATISFACTION OF HURTING ME. I AM NOT VULNERABLE. YOU WILL NEVER BREAK ME MORE THAN I AM ALREADY BROKEN" A wild grin spreads across your face. You spit again and they rush towards you, in a fury, charging with their busted bottles.

You kick and shout and you feel the rope cutting into your thighs. There is pain everywhere. There are hands in your mouth and you bite down and taste rust and slick and salt and sweat. Slurs fly through the air along with shattered glass.

"Filthy whore!"

"Slut!"

"You asked for this, thinking you could go above the law."

"You deserve what's coming to you, bitch"

Suddenly a heavyset troll with slicked back greasy hair lunges at you with a whip. You feel the harsh leather hit your bare chest. Lash after lash hits you, on your face, on your legs, on your arms. Not an inch of you is spared. Some of the trolls have begun to rub themselves rhythmically. You feel sick. So so sick. You retch all over the troll with the whip. He kicks you square in the jaw. Your left incisor shatters inside of your mouth. There are hands on you. Hands gripping your breasts and biting your throat. **You'll fight for him. You won't give up**. You feel wet slimy tongues on your skin. Vile, hot breath on your face. Knees and elbows and ribs and toes in places where they shouldn't be. A grimy, fat finger makes its way under the tatters of your skirt. You urge it away you scream against the ties at your mouth. **You will fight.** You squirm and squeal and jerk and cry out but nothing can stop it. **You will fight by putting all of your pain aside. You will fight by being strong and apathetic to the pain**. You are courageous.

You stop moving around. You stay completely stone still and fix your gaze on the ocean. You let them touch you. You let them hurt you, because really, they're hurting themselves. You're the winner. 

A shrill whistle sounds out and the crowd freezes. 

"Oy, did I say you could touch her? This one's mine." 


	3. Wildfire

A woman clad in a revealing black and blue jacket and thigh-length fluorescent red boots struts up the stairs. Her hair blows in the wind like wildfire. She has a teasing smirk on her face, and a coy look in her eyes. She pushes one of your offenders to the ground and steps over him. The crowd parts for her as she walks toward you. She begins untying the rope around your legs. 

"Which of you numbskulls decided it would be a good idea to harm this delicate flower?"

"Lighten up Spinneret, we were just having a little fun."

"You will refer to me as Mindfang. I am not your friend, I am your captain. Speak to me respectfully or I will throw you overboard."

He hands her the key to your cuffs dejectedly. She moves your arms deftly, and swiftly unlocks the restraints. You lean against the pole for fear of collapsing, but before you fall back she lifts you up and cradles you in her arms. You close your eyes and let her. When you come to, you realize you are in an unfamiliar recuperacoon. The sopor is rich and revitalizing. You note with surprise that most of the gashes on your torso have healed shut. 

But.. Where are you? 

You bob to the top of the recuperacoon and examine your surroundings. You are in a huge room filled with treasure chests and gold hangings. Lots of mirrors and stacks upon stacks of empty booze bottles. You try to recall what brought you here. You were in a dark cell, with a gold-framed mirror… And there was a man with big, rough hands. And then the pirate ship, and the fingers touching you everywhere and their stares… and then the girl with the hair like wildfire. She carried you here, didn't she?

"Don't be alarmed, love. It's only me."

She stands there, her face calm. On the surface, she is typical, an open book. But her eyes hold so much more. Her self-assured, sassy attitude is a facade, a masquerade. You gaze at her for a few more seconds before you realize you are staring. You look away, embarrassed. She smiles wryly, and offers a hand. You don't realize that you're stark naked until she pulls you up to face her.

You move to cover yourself up, but she grabs your hands and stares you straight in the face. 

"If it'd make you more comfortable, I can get naked too."

No… this is not what you want. This is the last thing on your mind. Not this, not now. You don't want to breathe in her toxic perfume or touch her soft skin or taste the sweet whiskey on her breath. And you certainly don't want her to disrobe and reveal all of her most intimate parts to you. No matter how desirable they are. Before you can protest, she has stripped down to her buttocks and your lips are mashing on hers, needy, but gentle. Delicate. You don't want it. You push away, but, yet, you continue. Your body disobeys your commands. You will yourself to stop your hands from traveling up the flat expanse of her core. You trace each rib with a fingernail and feel her shudder. Why are you still touching her, like this? You've stopped already, but your hands are still moving. 

This is completely depraved. Your movements don't even matter anymore. Your body is a puppet, and she is using it to please herself. Your hand cups one of her breasts and you begin to caress it, tenderly. She moans lightly beneath your touch. You dig your nails in viciously, and she yelps with glee. What kind of sadist is she? You have given up trying to control yourself. You let her move you however she wants. You feel disgusted with yourself, even though you're not responsible. You think, maybe, you might actually be enjoying this a little bit. 

You completely lose yourself at the thought of it and start kissing her again. You bite her ear just enough to draw blood. It tastes like chrome and moonshine. She moves over and saddles on top of you. Her body is on yours and everything is okay. It's just you, and her, and the tacky gold carpet. 

 


	4. Jaded

A wave crashes against the jagged rocks. You snap out of your reverie. You would do anything to see her again, but you never will.

 

 

You are condemned to continue existing without her.

She never loved you. Never could. She was too broken. Too bent on being strong.

But you loved her enough for the both of you. You loved her dead.

You made her be what you needed. You manipulated her.

Controlled her. She did you bidding. Your passion slew her.

She was your rock. But you impaled her.

Spades, jealousy, stupidity.

Even if she hated you, she'd never forget you. 

Because you caused her demise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry about the illustration and general crappiness of this fic!! I am currently working on the rose/roxy fill and I will upload it as a treat! This was really hastily done because I was concentrating on another prompt the entire time, and then realized last minute that it wasn't going to be done before the deadline. Lo and behold, Mindfang/Dolorosa! It doesn't completely fit the criteria for your request, and I am terribly sorry about that ;o; The Lalondecest will come soon, though!


End file.
